


Ghost on the Shore

by MalikaiFlame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Homesick Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron)-centric, Langst, Pining Lance (Voltron), References to Depression, i just tried to make it beautiful okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalikaiFlame/pseuds/MalikaiFlame
Summary: Lance revisits the most important place he knows, even if only through his dreams. Home.





	Ghost on the Shore

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short fic that I had to get out of my head. It's inspired by two songs, "Moon" by Sleeping at Last and "Ghost on the Shore" by Lord Huron.
> 
> "Lie where I land, let my bones turn to sand. I was born on the lake, and I don't want to leave it."
> 
> Please comment. I would love to hear what you think!

The moonlight trickled across the water’s surface, dancing over the ripples. As he tentatively lifted his foot from the sand and into the water, a brisk, but pleasant shiver, traveled up his spine and through his body. His breath came out in misty clouds, which dissipated and became one with the night air. The days were almost always warm, but the nights. The nights were when his spirit came alive.

The Varadero beach’s sand always found its way in between his toes, which curled around the grains as he forced them deeper into the surface. Small flecks of sand always found their way over his body. Hours from now, when he would turn back towards home, flecks would cover his arms in a thin layer and he would be shaking them out of his hair for days. He never actually thought that there had been a time in his life where sand hadn’t been entangled throughout his locks. His mom always got upset because the sand that he washed off of his body would often clog the bathtub drain. But her upset was always coated in understanding and affection. She knew that he was meant for the sea.

The waves lapped around his ankles, beckoning him farther into the sea. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the sea never had to ask. He knelt down to roll up his jeans, fighting against their natural stiffness as he tried to fold them up for a third time. He didn’t really care if they got wet, but denim was always hard to dry, and he only had two pairs and he would need dry ones for his morning chores. The other was already wet from other nights’ rendezvous with the sea, so he was down to his last pair. However, that didn’t stop him from flirting with the water.

The Moon pulled the water, and as it pulled the water, it pulled him. She mystified him. The way she was constant. The way she always returned. The way, when she disappeared from sight, he trusted that she would keep her promise and be there the following night. She would sing to him, and she sounded like his mother. Like safety. Like love. 

He and the waves would waltz as she conducted. The current would pull him right, and he would lean into it willingly. As he would take a step, the sea would sway in time. His hands would gently grace the surface and water would weave through his fingers, which always became prune-like as his skin adjusted to the exposure. An unappealing sight to many, but he considered it one of the most beautiful things he was capable of doing. 

He raised his hand up to his face to take a closer look. His fingers were tenderly outlined by the moon’s light. The light silver contrasting the deep navy surrounding him. From this angle, it looked as if the Moon could fit in the palm of his hand. He knew that such a myriad thing could not fit in his hand, but it instead resided in his heart, which he knew was incapable of limits. Naive of boundaries. It, like the Moon, knew nothing of restraint. But only of restoration and of giving.

Like the Moon and her revolutions, he would wax and wane. Fall deep within himself, wondering if he would ever be able to bathe in light again, when the infinite darkness would seem ever-daunting and all-consuming. Only to find, over and over again, time was the only answer. That, as had always been promised, he would turn on his axis and be bathed once again. It took precise calculation, mapping out his course. One that took hours of silence and isolation. But it was one that always lead him to the water. 

Like the Moon, he never felt any need to leave where he was. Never felt the need to leave this orbit. His family was here. They were his foundation. Their gravitational pull always called him back; pulled him towards them with promises of love. Like him and like the Moon. They beckoned him in a way that wasn’t forceful, but in a way with arms opened wide. In a way that he knew he was cherished. There was always a tug from within him. One that reminded him that his home would never be far away. 

One that he had to believe his trajectory would return him to.


End file.
